Cerulean
by Garrae
Summary: "A small blue dot in her vision. But it was the wrong blue. It wasn't her blue. She wanted her blue. But it wasn't there." Fluff in three chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"No," she cried, still, he thought, delirious. "They're wrong. I want the right blue."

"D'you know what she's talking about?"

"No." Her father looked worriedly at her. "She just keeps calling for the right blue, and I don't know what she means."

_A small blue dot in her vision. But it was the wrong blue. It wasn't her blue. She wanted her blue. But it wasn't there._

She whimpered, and even in her fever tears fell: her eyes closed.

"That temperature just won't come down," Demming said. "She shouldn't be" –

"She should have gotten that cut treated straight after she got it," Jim Beckett said irritably, "but no, finishing the case was more important. And now look at her." His irritation drained. "I just don't get what she means about the blue."

Unseeing hazel eyes opened again, and her father bent over her. "C'mon, Katie-bug. What do you want? Tell me what the blue thing is and I'll get it for you."

"Not the right blue," she whispered.

_A different blue. Better, but still not her blue. She needed her blue. Warm blue. These were warm blue, but it wasn't the warmth she needed._

"She might mean her blue blanket," Jim said doubtfully, "but…well, okay, she's still got a high fever but she had that when she was small, and I can't think that she wants that."

"Has she got a blue sweater?"

"Don't you know?"

"I only met her two weeks ago."

"So how come you're here?"

Detective Demming cringed slightly under Jim's parental stare. "We were…uh…going to go for dinner when it all went down."

"You're dating Katie?"

"That was the idea," Demming said. "It hasn't exactly worked out well so far."

Jim wasn't listening. "What about Rick Castle?"

Demming shrugged. "He had his chance, and said I was free to try."

"What?"

"He said it. Gotta say, I was surprised. Way he behaved, I'd thought…"

"Yeah." Jim had a thought of his own. "Anyone told him? Or the rest of the team?"

"Not yet." Demming squirmed a little. "I was a bit busy getting her into the ER and then all this and you were her emergency contact so I called you."

"Uh, how about you go call them? I don't think they're going to be best pals with you if you don't."

Demming departed, which Jim considered more of a blessing than perhaps he should. He seemed an okay guy, but Katie hadn't mentioned him, and she chattered – as much as she ever _chattered_ – about Rick Castle every time he saw her. It all seemed very strange to Jim.

"They'll be here asap," Demming said.

"Good. Maybe one of them will know what this blue she keeps wanting is." Beckett whimpered again, but all Jim could pick out was _blue_.

Less than half an hour later Ryan, Espo and Lanie had all descended in a fluster of babbling worry, annoyance and confusion.

After two minutes of pointless hubbub and blame-slinging, Jim clapped his hands sharply. "Stop that! Katie's sick and you bunch of dumb clucks are making noise and disturbing her. Shush!"

Shamefaced silence arrived on the word.

_All that noise, and no clear blue in which she could find peace. It wasn't the right blue dot._

"Okay. Now that you're all _quiet_, Katie wants something blue. Every time she says 'blue', her fever spikes." Lanie opened her mouth to correct Jim's medical knowledge, caught his eye, and shut her lips again. "So whatever this _blue_ is, she needs it. So what is it?"

Ryan shrugged stupidly. "She's never mentioned anything blue to me." He bent over Beckett, who half-wailed, and whose hands flapped as if to push him away.

_I want my blue. Why won't someone give me my blue? That's not it. Go away!_

"Nor me," Espo said.

"Most likely Castle would know," Lanie pointed out, tartly. "Hasn't anyone asked him?" Blank faces. "Didn't any of you call him?"

Demming shrank from her gaze.

"We all know you wouldn't, Robbery-Boy. You don't want him getting in the way of your sickeningly sappy love eyeballs."

Espo made a vomiting noise. Jim clapped his hands again.

"Call him," Jim said. "I'm not watching my daughter like this if Rick's got an answer. You can all sort out your romantic issues" – his sarcasm was tangible – "later. A lot later, and not in here."

"I'll call him," Ryan said, and did. A moment later he returned. "He'll be here as fast as he can."

Demming made a face. Jim spotted it, and glared at him. He coloured, and Jim nodded disapprovingly. "Yeah," he said. "_My_ daughter. _My_ call. And if Rick can shed any light on this mystery, then he's going to be here to do it too." He stared around. No-one dared to contradict him. He resembled his daughter in full badass mode to a quite extraordinary degree.

In the hospital bed, Beckett tried to curl up and whimper, forestalled by the line for the intravenous antibiotics. Jim, parentally attuned to her, sat down by the bed and took her hand. She quietened, but didn't regain consciousness.

"You four, go think about what this _blue_ might be somewhere else," Jim rapped. "If you'd told her to get this seen to earlier, then we wouldn't be here. So go _fix it_. And when Rick gets here, send him in – and the rest of you stay out."

Jim's vicious glare made it perfectly clear where Beckett's – marginally superior – glare came from. The four scuttled for the door. Jim settled back, holding his daughter's hand, and wondering how on earth she could stomach any of those four idiots. He allowed as how his natural worry might be affecting his view, but it didn't change his thoughts.

Not ten minutes later, Rick came dashing in and skidded to a halt just in time to avoid crashing into the bed. Jim, astonished, watched his expression turn from worry to absolute terror as he saw the IV line and Beckett white, whimpering, and unconscious.

"What _happened_?"

"She cut herself and didn't get it treated. Infection."

"Oh, Beckett," Rick sighed. "Why can't you just take care of yourself occasionally." He leaned over her. She blinked, and the whimpering stopped. Katie's hand went limp in Jim's.

"Right," Jim said firmly. "_You_ are staying." He put Beckett's hand into Rick's. "Sit down here and don't move. This is the first time she's been calm in two hours, so you're obviously a good thing." Rick gleeped at him, which Jim felt added nothing to the sum of human knowledge. "Sit!" he said. It worked on Rick just as well as it had worked on a recalcitrant retriever. Rick sat.

Jim noticed with some interest and more amusement that Rick was mindlessly stroking Katie's hand with his thumb; and with much more relief that Katie was calmer. Her heart rate had dropped, and she seemed less feverish.

_The right blue, finally. Her blue. Her blue dot, in her vision. Mine._

Another hour later, Castle's arm had fallen asleep, and, since he had no book, couldn't play games with one hand, and had no-one to talk to, the rest of him was pretty close to following his arm. His eyes drooped.

Jim walked back in, with two go-cups of coffee. Castle regarded it suspiciously. It looked like it might be hospital coffee, which bore a resemblance to real coffee in much the same way that an earthworm resembled an anaconda.

"So have you any ideas what _blue_ Katie might be talking about?"

"Uh?"

"You've had an hour to think about it, what do you think the _blue_ she keeps saying is?"

"You never mentioned blue."

"I did."

"You didn't. You told me to sit down and then you left. You never mentioned blue and anyway I've no idea. Though she'd look lovely in blue…" Castle remembered that Jim was Beckett's father and abruptly stopped that sentence, though his mind continued it for some seconds until Jim growled. He sounded just like Beckett did, only a little deeper.

"I'm asking" – it sounded a lot more like _telling_ – "you to think about it now."

"She hasn't said a word since I've been here. Blue or anything else. She's been totally quiet."

Jim regarded the monitor and his daughter. "She's a lot calmer. Likely you need a break" – Rick nodded – "so take a few minutes and then come back. Whatever you're doing, it's working, so you're going to keep doing it till Katie wakes up."

Castle looked at Jim like he'd never met him before. (Well, he barely had. Briefly, in passing. He surely hadn't been like this on those rare, fleeting occasions.) _This_ was pure Beckett. The iron note of command, the certainty that he, Castle, would bend to the Beckett will. Normally, he didn't, just to annoy her. He wasn't going to annoy Jim. Not with _Kate_ Beckett in a hospital bed with an IV line and a fever.

He slipped his numb hand from hers, and immediately she whimpered. Jim's hand replaced it. "Better be quick," he said. She whimpered again. Castle winced, and practically ran for the restroom, pursued by a thin, high sound that clawed at his heart. He returned in short order.

_It's gone. Don't go! Don't go… Don't leave me._

As soon as Castle returned and leaned over Beckett, taking her hand back and then sitting down, she quietened again. The IV was almost done, and a nurse came bustling in to check her signs.

"She should be fine now. I expect she'll wake up shortly, but she might just fall asleep. You can both stay, if you don't disturb her."

"We won't," both men said meekly. The nurse cast them a sceptical glance, but bustled off again.

"Well, Rick," Jim began. "Since we seem to be stuck here, this seems like a good opportunity to get to know you."

Castle's stomach knotted up. He wasn't even Beckett's _boyfriend_ (but he wanted to be, oh, _how_ he wanted to be. He should never have given Demming a free pass to try. He'd known it was a mistake the minute the words had left his mouth and the damn detective had been on it like a wolf on a sheep. Not that Beckett resembled a sheep in any way…) But it wasn't _fair_ to be grilled by Jim when he wasn't even a boyfriend. All the disadvantages and not even a single kiss to balance it.

Jim felt that he had the perfect opportunity to find out just what Rick was like when he couldn't escape. Katie talked about him constantly, so it was his parental duty to make sure he approved. Or if he disapproved, that he didn't let Katie know. She wouldn't be happy. She probably wouldn't be happy that he'd grilled Rick, but being on the wrong side of Katie was the natural state of affairs for the father of an, um, _decisive_ woman.

"Uh, okay," Rick said cautiously. Jim approved of the caution. He wouldn't have approved of fright, but Rick didn't look frightened. Yet.

"I know you're a well-known author, and you're following Katie around for research." Rick nodded. Jim went for the kill. "I read Naked Heat."

Rick's face went blank. "You did?" he said, commendably smoothly.

"Yes. I found it quite…fascinating. Some of the descriptions were…eye-opening."

"I'm delighted that I was able to convey such an effect. It's always difficult to know how one's creative vision will translate on to the page."

"Indeed. You must have a very vivid imagination."

"Yes." Rick smiled sharply. "It's amazing how someone can inspire a character, while still being a different person altogether."

_Ow_, Jim thought. That was a cut-off if ever he'd heard one. Rick had obviously spotted the line of questioning almost immediately. Hm. Intelligence. He'd need that – all of it – to deal with Katie. Okay. Rick was clearly used to questions about his inspiration, and Jim didn't feel inclined to compare notes about daughters. Asking about his money would be vulgar, and anyway Jim had heard about the loft, which really told him everything he needed to know.

"You know, Katie doesn't really tell me anything about her job. What's it like, following her around?"

"You know," Rick parroted Jim's tone, "I think my daughter would be pretty unimpressed with me if she thought I was weaselling around her friends trying to sniff out things she didn't want to tell me – and she's only sixteen and I'm still responsible for her."

There was an interesting silence, in which Jim's scarlet face endeavoured to set light to the box of Kleenex by the bed.

Finally, he smiled. "Okay, you got me. I'll stop trying to trap you and you can stop parrying. Hi, Rick. I'm Jim." He held out a hand, which Castle awkwardly shook, left handed: his right still being occupied with Beckett. "Katie talks about you a lot."

"She does?" Rick seemed unwontedly shocked.

"Oh, yes. I don't think she even knows she's doing it" –

"I do not" –

"Katie?"

"Beckett!"

"Ow!"

"Sorry sorry sorry," babbled Rick, releasing her hand. She made a very odd noise: her fingers moved slightly towards him, and without apparently noticing or looking Rick's fingers locked back into hers. Jim thought that that was more of an admission than a full-volume holler, and was absolutely convinced of it when Katie's fingers curled around Rick's.

"Uh, what happened?"

Jim produced a full-scale parental scowl. "You didn't get that cut seen to, and it blew up into a horrible infection which put you on an antibiotic IV. What were you _thinking_?"

Castle watched Beckett shrink into her pillow in embarrassed four-year old style. She almost pulled the blanket over her head, which was cute, funny, and adorable.

"I was catching the killer," she growled.

"And in the four to six hours after that?" Jim inquired.

"It didn't look that bad. I washed it out."

Jim and Castle sighed in tandem. Beckett glared at both of them.

"Not well enough," Jim said, and rapidly dropped his scowl in the face of a planet-levelling scowl from his daughter. "Anyway, maybe you can clear up a mystery for me now you've woken up. While you were delirious" –

"What?"

"You were. _Anyway_, you kept asking for something blue. What on earth was it?"

Beckett looked entirely and genuinely blank. "Blue?" she queried.

"Yeah. You said 'I want the right blue'."

An attractive little crease appeared between her brows. "No idea," she eventually said.

"I guess we'd better tell the rest of them you're okay," Jim suggested.

"Yeah."

Two minutes later – didn't any of them have _other_ places to be, Jim wondered – the four of them jostled in. Demming went straight to Katie, completely oblivious to her hand in Rick's.

"Kate, are you okay?"

Jim watched Rick's face change, first to annoyance, and then – was that _realisation_?

"I'm fine," she said flatly. "I'll see you – all of you – at the precinct. Tomorrow."

Just before Jim could make his views known on _that_ subject, the nurse came back in. "Readings," she said briskly.

"Privacy, thank you?" Kate told the room. "All of you. And I'll see everyone but Dad and Castle _tomorrow_." She glared impartially at everyone except the nurse, who got a smile. "You two stay," she said blackly. "Come back in after the readings and then we'll talk about the discussion you were having when I woke up."

Jim and Castle exchanged identically terrified looks. Everyone else had already fled to avoid the imminent blast radius, even Lanie. They left, casting scared glances behind them and meeting only the gimlet glare of an irritated Beckett.

Far too soon, the far-too-efficient nurse had finished, and Jim and Castle filed back in, rather in the manner of boisterous second-graders sent to the principal's office.

"Now, Dad" – Castle sagged with relief – "what _exactly _were you tattling to Castle?"

"I don't tattle," Jim tried.

"I _heard_ you. Try again."

"I'm your dad. Stop intimidating me."

Beckett's glare strengthened to around Force 12. "What were you tattling?" she repeated, in tones far more suited to Interrogation One than to talking to her father.

"He hadn't said anything that you didn't hear," Castle interjected. The Beckett glare fell upon him, but remarkably failed to cause his hair to sizzle and erupt into flames. "It's nice to know you talk about me all the time. I _knew_ you liked me." He was especially sure of that because he had taken her hand again, and her fingers had twined into his.

"Dad shouldn't be telling _any_ tales about me."

"It's what fathers do," Castle said happily. "Embarrass their daughters." His thumb slid back and forth over the back of her hand. Jim's eyes dropped to it, and quickly rose again, before Katie could spot his glance.

"I still want to know what this blue thing was, that you kept asking for," Jim said.

"I don't know," Beckett snipped. "I don't have any comfort objects now I'm grown up."

Castle looked like he was about to say something, and then very obviously thought better of it. Jim almost asked him, and then thought better of _that_, not least because his daughter hadn't dropped the glare.

"Well, if you think of it, let me know, because I can't think of anything either," Jim said. "Now, are they going to let you out of here, or" – he acquired a gamin, mischievous smile – "are they going to keep you in until they're sure you see sense about your health?"

"Dad!"

Castle snickered, and followed with an _Ow!_ as his ear became twisted in the Beckett talons.

"You shouldn't bully him, Katie," Jim chided. "He was the only thing that calmed you down."

"What?"

"_Thing_?" No-one paid any attention to Castle's insulted wail.

"You were delirious – because you didn't get that cut seen to and it got infected" –

"Leave it, Dad. You already said that" –

"And you kept asking for the right blue. Anyway. Your team and that Demming cop weren't helping, and I have to say," Jim digressed, "that they're all a bunch of dumb idiots who couldn't find their way out of an open barn door" –

"That's my team you're talking about!"

"Yeah, and all they did was argue and squabble. No damn use at all. At least Ryan had Castle here's number and could call him – _after_ I told him to – and he came hightailing in like his ass was on fire and then you calmed down."

Beckett stared at her father. Castle observed Beckett, and kept on stroking her hand, still firmly in his grasp. "I did?" she faltered out.

"Sure did." Jim said, and then had a mildly malicious thought which he didn't scruple to act upon. "You didn't calm down like that for Demming, and _he_ said you were supposed to be going out to dinner together."

Castle winced. Beckett blinked. Jim waited.

"We were going to pick up a burger," Beckett said. "I wasn't aware that you were still vetting my social life, since it didn't work when I was in high school and it isn't going to work now."

Jim winced. Castle blinked. Beckett waited.

"Is that what you were doing?" Castle asked, with delicate malice of his own.

"Dad? Were you grilling Castle?"

* * *

_Thank you to all readers and reviewers._

_Three chapters. Sun/Tue/Thu. From a prompt from Mobazan27: A Small Blue Dot._

_If you like my stories, you may like Death in Focus and its sequel Death in Camera, both on Amazon under SR Garrae. Give them a go!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Jim, caught out, stared around the room as if the IV would come to his rescue. Short of injecting a sedative into Beckett, which seemed unlikely, it wouldn't. Even the IV was scared of Beckett, and looking at her face, Castle thought, it had considerable justification.

"Were you?" she said dangerously.

Despite the crackling ire, Castle was quite comfortable – mainly because none of the ire was directed at him, which was a very welcome change.

"I…" Jim went on the attack. "I'm your dad, Katie. I'm just looking out for you."

"I don't need to be _looked out for_" –

"Which is undoubtedly why," Jim said with awful sarcasm, "you're in the hospital with an IV line because you couldn't even clean up a cut. Seems to me _someone _has to look out for you."

Beckett's mouth flapped, so furious she couldn't form words.

"How about I look out for her?" Castle said smoothly, spotting his opportunity. "Jim, you look tired, and I'm sure it's all been a bit stressful – I always found it pretty awful when Alexis was in hospital."

"Alexis – oh, your daughter," Jim realised, and then further realised that Castle was giving him a chance to retreat with some dignity. "Yeah. Yes. I'm a bit shaken up. Katie, I'll call you tomorrow, okay? Try to get better."

"Yes, Dad," Beckett said in a very put-upon fashion. "Talk to you tomorrow."

Jim didn't scuttle out, but that was only because respectable attorneys and fathers did not _scuttle_ from their daughters, however intimidating said daughters might be. The door swung shut behind him.

"Was Dad grilling you?"

"Not for very long," Castle said smugly. Beckett's eyebrow quirked. "We called it a draw after the first few sentences."

"Wow. No-one ever managed that when I was in high school."

"I think I've got a bit of experience over high school boys," Castle oozed.

"So page six says," Beckett snipped.

"Mean. True, but mean." He smiled lazily, still holding her hand. "Experience is no bad thing, you know. It allows you to provide the best outcomes."

"Practice makes perfect? I haven't noticed that you were perfect."

"Any time you want to try, Beckett. Any time." He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. A monitor bleeped frantically, and his ears reddened guiltily. "Ooops." Then he stared. "Uh…why did your heart rate just spike?" A happy smile followed the stare. "Ooohhh, Beckett. You liked that. Really liked that" –

"Liked what?" came an irritated voice. "Kate, okay, our dinner never happened, but I thought we…could…rearrange…never mind. I was going to give you a ride home, but I guess you got that covered. Why didn't you just say you weren't interested?" Demming scowled at Castle. "And you could just have said that you were, and I'd never have bothered, since it's been a complete waste of time." He stalked out, offence in every sinew of his back.

"Huh?" Beckett said, and then her eyes flashed. "He asked you if you were interested and you said _no_?" She tugged at her hand, which didn't free it from Castle's.

"Not up to me. You weren't exactly indicating interest."

"You'd just been with that actress!"

"You'd spent weeks in my loft hiding all the time!"

"You didn't so much as waggle an eyebrow at me!"

"You didn't even bite your lip once! You barely even smiled."

"_I_ didn't smile? You hid in your study all the time first and every time you came out you were frowning."

"'Cause every time I looked at you, you were unhappy."

"You were frowning first."

"You were."

"No, you," Beckett said childishly. "You were unhappy so it had to be because I was there because that's all that was different."

"I was unhappy because you didn't like being there."

"Of course I didn't!" Castle gasped. "My apartment and all my things were _blown up_. I lost everything but Dad's watch and Mom's ring. How was I supposed to feel? Sure, you've got a lovely loft, but I lost _my home_!" She sniffed. "It's not the same. And you didn't even give me a hug," she added, and then snapped her mouth shut.

"You wanted me to hug you? I thought you'd shoot me if I tried," Castle said. "If you'd said…"

"I thought you'd just know. God knows you observe enough." Castle was pretty sure she hadn't meant to say that.

"Yeah, but hugging people when they don't want it is crass." He stopped, and actually thought. "Beckett…do you want a hug now?" She nodded. Castle shifted his chair, then changed his mind, sat on the edge of the bed, and wrapped her into his arms, careful of the IV line and cannula. She nuzzled her whole face into his shoulder, and, well, _flopped_.

"That's better," she muttered into his shirt. Castle was fairly sure she hadn't meant to articulate that either, and managed not to mess up the moment by commenting.

"Will they let you out today?" he asked instead. "Because you could come back to mine, or I could come to yours, and you could be looked after. Not," he added hastily, "looked out for."

Beckett's buried nose removed itself from his shoulder, and two surprised hazel eyes met his. "Don't know," she humphed. "I don't wanna be here. I want to be home."

At which convenient moment the nurse bustled back in, took in the situation, and tutted. "You'll disturb the cannula," she said. "And hugging isn't appropriate for patients." Her lips pinched. "Just as well you're being discharged," she said disapprovingly.

"I am?" Beckett said with more life and happiness than the nurse evidently felt appropriate. "Great. Where are my clothes? Can you unhook me?" The nurse's lips pinched further, but she neatly and painlessly undid Beckett from the IV, removed the cannula, put gauze and a Band-Aid on the small puncture, and produced Beckett's clothes from a previously unsuspected storage shelf under the bed. Castle tactfully began to retire.

"You will wait, won't you?" Beckett asked plaintively.

"Sure I will. Um… are you okay?"

"The antibiotics make me nauseous," she admitted, and indeed she did look rather green. He was astonished she'd confessed to a weakness, but…well, she'd even – almost – asked for a hug. Gently – and very cautiously – he hugged her again, and then retreated right out of the room.

After a few minutes more than he'd expected, Beckett emerged, dressed but still green. The nurse pounced on her, and presented her with a further seven days' worth of antibiotics, all of which, Beckett was informed in didactic – not to say dictatorial – tones, were to be taken, starting that evening.

"And remember that antibiotics will stop the Pill working," the nurse announced. Beckett's blush would have started fires in a pond. "So you and your boyfriend should use other methods for at least a week after they're done." Never mind _Beckett's _blush, _Castle's _scarlet cheeks would have melted both polar ice-caps and doubled global warming. The nurse had clacked off before either of them managed to say anything, and by that time neither of them could face it.

"Let's get you home," Castle choked out, eventually. "I called the car service when you were dressing, so they should be here shortly."

"Okay," Beckett faltered back at him, shaky and colourless. She sat back down on the bed, and it was _almost_ smooth. He sat next to her, and curled an arm around her shoulders, keeping her close as they went down to the car and settled in for the short trip to her apartment.

"Lean on me." He decided on distraction, from so many things, not least how badly he wanted to be her boyfriend. At least Demming was out of the picture, permanently. "I still want to know what the _blue_ that you kept asking for was."

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Blue shirts?"

"I can buy them anywhere."

"Blue teddy bear?"

"Grew out of those when I was five." She managed a mischievous quirk of pale lips. "I don't need a teddy bear in my bed."

"What do you need?" Castle asked provocatively.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Castle grinned. "I could guess," he smirked, "but it wouldn't be fair. I know what you need in bed."

"You what now? You do not!"

"Do so." Castle smiled angelically, and cuddled her in more tightly.

Beckett's former paleness had become suffused. "You…you…arrogant, sex-crazed" –

"A good book," Castle said happily, before Beckett's suffusion could turn into an attack on his nose or ears. She spluttered to a halt. "And I must say, Beckett, that your immediate leap to thinking that your bed would be improved by having me in it horrifies me. Such naughty thoughts for such a demure detective. I'm quite shocked. Shocked, I say."

"Yeah, right. Mr Unshockable is shocked? _I'm_ shocked. Shocked that you're so transparently not shocked. Or just so plain transparent."

"We're at your apartment," Castle deflected, hopped out, and opened the car door for Beckett before the driver could. "I'll get a cab home," he said to the driver, tipped him, and resettled his arm neatly around Beckett's slim waist.

"I don't need to be propped up."

"You're all wobbly and you were on an IV less than three hours ago, so humour me," Castle said with a touch of sharpness. Beckett subsided into a puddle of grumbling disgruntlement, but didn't pull away.

"Now," Castle said cheerfully, "how about some dinner, and then your first dose of antibiotics."

"Eurgh."

"I hope you're not talking about my top-class cooking."

"Antibiotics."

"It's your own fault. Now, what have we got here…" Castle investigated the fridge, and found nothing useful.

"Takeout menus," Beckett said, already riffling through them.

"I guess. You have an empty fridge."

"Delivery cooks better and faster than I can. Efficiency."

"Home cooking is nicer."

"Only if you have time to cook."

"I could cook."

"You could, but since there are no ingredients you won't have much success. Takeout. Pizza for me, please."

Castle grumbled to himself, but chose, rang, and ordered, while Beckett admitted to wanting to have a shower and to change her clothes. When she came back out, she was un-made up and dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, informal and less guarded than he'd seen her in months, scowling at the antibiotics, though not at the arrival of their dinners.

"I have to take it with water and _before_ food," she growled.

"So?"

"So it makes me feel nauseous. How am I going to enjoy my pizza if I don't feel good?"

"Snuggle up to me. That'll make you feel good." He smirked. "Anyway, we can think about this _blue_ you were talking about."

"Why?" she snipped.

"Because I'm curious. It was obviously important to you, and I want to know what it was."

Beckett took her antibiotics, and made a horrible grimace. "Ugh." She fell upon her pizza, to take the revolting taste away, but after two bites stopped and made another disgusted moue. "It doesn't even taste right," she complained.

"Have a drink. Soda, or something. Take the nasty taste away."

"I'm not six." The expression on her face suggested otherwise, but luckily she couldn't see it. She took a swig of soda, which Castle had put in front of her, and her face cleared. "Okay, that was a good idea."

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"Say that I was right. I was, so you can say so."

"What?"

"I want you to admit I was right. You never admit it when I'm right."

"Now who's childish?"

"Yep." Castle waited.

"Oh-_kay_. Child. You were right."

"Thank you," he bounced. "Say it again?"

"No."

"Awwww." In lieu of bouncing, he wriggled across the couch and ended up with an arm around her shoulders. "There. Comfort."

"Thank you," Beckett said. Castle boggled. He'd expected snark.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she drooped.

"You're not really. It's been a hell of a day. Snuggle in and rest, and try to eat more of the pizza."

Slowly, she worked her way through a couple of slices, and most of the soda, though Castle thought that it took more effort than she really had the energy for. By the time she had finished, she was quite definitely leaning on him. He couldn't be sorry: she was so deliciously snuggly when she was tired.

"You know, it's funny how you were so fixated on something blue," Castle mused. "And you calmed right down when I came in and held your hand. Your dad was really impressed – I think. I don't think he made any friends in your team, though. They all looked utterly terrified. It was rather like they look at you when you're being scary. He's got almost as good a glare as you…" He stopped. Beckett was regarding him with a strange mixture of quizzicality and irritation, which had almost overridden her fatigue. "Shutting up now."

Two seconds later he began to muse again. "You wanted something blue. And it wasn't something you had as a child, because your dad would have known what it was. But whatever you wanted…you stopped wanting…it…as…soon…as…I…was…there… – oh my God you wanted me."

Her jaw dropped, and her eyes stretched as wide as dinner plates. "I _what_?"

"There," Castle panicked. "I mean you wanted me there to hold your hand and hug you, not that you wanted me" – he caught up with her flaring scarlet blush – "Did you?"

"Uh…" said Beckett, which added nothing to Castle's knowledge.

"Beckett?"

Beckett had gone into a flat spin panic. She couldn't have wanted Castle…could she? The hug had been just what she needed, though, and the mischievous kiss on her hand had freaked all the monitors: while there could have been a momentary power surge she really didn't think it was very likely – oh God. Oh, _God_. Seriously? This was…was… was… she didn't know what it was.

She turned her shorting-out head, and looked straight into Castle's worried blue eyes. _That_ was what had done it. Oh God. OhGodohGodohGod. It was insane. Totally off the planet. It was –

She became aware that Castle was hugging her again. It was…

Wonderful.

"Are you okay?" Castle sounded nearly as panicked as Beckett felt, which was several levels of panic beyond absolute terror. "Beckett? Talk to me? Something? Anything?"

"Ur…uh," she managed, which didn't provide any information to her, let alone anyone else. She dragged her gaze away from Castle's ridiculously beautiful eyes, and tried to return to the surface from her drowning in the blue depths. The hug had turned into a definite cling, but that was okay (_what_?) because it seemed like she was clinging to him too. OhGodohGodohGod _how did this happen_?

"Look at me." Now he was staring into her eyes, which really wasn't helping her resurface. She dropped her gaze before she could be lost again, and the simplest method of doing that was to put her head on his shoulder. After all, she already knew it was a very comfortable place to lean.

Castle's death-grip eased, and turned back into a hug, swiftly followed by rubbing her back, which slowly turned into a soft, sensuous stroke. Gradually, her panic eased and she relaxed into his assured touch.

"There," he murmured. "That's much better. Just be here and be easy." Being there was definitely easy. Moving away – well, maybe not so much. She had no desire to move away at all. Fortunately, she didn't need to move away. In fact, she could just stay right there and snuggle. Everything was within reach: pizza – though she didn't want any more – soda, which might remove the disgustingly persistent taste of the revolting antibiotics; and Castle: big, cosy, and comforting; still petting gently.

Beckett sat up, reluctantly, but took no steps at all to remove herself from the crook of Castle's arms.

"It was my eyes," he said wonderingly. "_That_ was the blue you wanted. But…your dad and Demming" – the name carried an acid edge – "have blue eyes too. So…it was _my_ eyes. Not just any blue eyes." He smiled, but unexpectedly, there was no smug arrogance to it. "You just wanted me to be there when you needed me." The petting slid up and down her spine. "If you hadn't been delirious, I'd never have known." A tiny pressure suggested that she should snuggle in again, and Beckett couldn't find a reason to disagree with the suggestion. She snuggled, to a happy, wordless rumble. "I'll always be there if you need me," he said quietly.

"I know," she whispered into his neck. "I know."

"Look at me, then." She peeped up, suddenly shy, lashes sweeping across her hazel eyes. Castle slid a finger under her chin, lifted it slightly, and plopped a kiss on her lips. He pulled back almost immediately: after all, she wasn't exactly well, and possibly it wasn't a great plan to initiate, um, intimacy right now. Cuddles, on the other hand, and small, teasing kisses…well, until she objected, those were perfectly acceptable.

He kissed her again, or maybe she kissed him: upturned soft lips inviting him down, in, deeper, more. His best intentions cindered: she'd done nothing to keep things calm, restrained, and for someone who'd been on IV antibiotics she surely wasn't acting sick or tired right now…or was she? His palm on her spine sensed a shadow of a shudder, a wisp of a wobble, and he pulled back (but oh, it was hard) and caught her eyes again.

"You're still wobbly," he said gently. "I could kiss you all day, but you're not well."

"I'm fine," Beckett said crossly. "Come back and kiss me."

Castle ran his thumb softly over her lip, and then followed it with his own mouth, but then lifted off again. "You're shaking. Come here and be hugged, and lean on me."

Beckett pouted, but her eyes had dulled a little, and her hands had slipped away, drooping into her lap. She didn't resist him pulling her into his lap, nor encouraging her head back to his shoulder, and then nuzzle-flopped into his neck. "It's not been a good day," she muttered.

"Nope," Castle agreed, and managed not to add _and if you'd just had that cut seen to, you'd have had a much better day_. Though if she had had it treated, she'd have gone out to dinner with Demming, so…swings and roundabouts, he guessed. "But you'll be okay now." _Okay with me_.

"Yeah." Her voice drifted away. "Safe with you."

Not much more was said, until Castle carefully tapped her nose, and when she flicked a glance up, moved her off his knee. "I have to go home," he explained. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah. Maybe I'll have a bath, or something." Her lips quirked into a half smile. "Nothing strenuous. I won't go for my usual evening run."

Castle slammed his instant protest back behind his throat on recognising the mischief lurking behind her smile. "Good," he said blandly. "I don't want to be back at Bellevue again on the same day. It's not terribly interesting." His face flickered as he remembered hauling ass to the hospital as fast as he could go. "You scared me," he blurted out.

"I scared _myself_," Beckett admitted, and picked up his hand, twisting her fingers into his. "Um…I'll try not to do it again."

"That would be good." He stood up, tutted at Beckett until she aborted her effort to rise too, and then bent to drop an affectionate kiss on her forehead. "I guess you're on medical leave now?"

"Probably," she grumped. "I haven't looked, but Ryan'll have tattled to Montgomery so likely there's an e-mail waiting." She scrabbled for her phone in the depths of her purse, swiped on, and made a particularly horrible face. "Two days – tomorrow and Thursday. Ugh."

"Could be worse. Anyway, I shall arrive to entertain you tomorrow morning. Till tomorrow, Beckett." He was gone before she could object or even answer.

* * *

_Thank you to all readers and reviewers, especially guests who can't be thanked directly._

_Final chapter Thursday. Note that it will be mildly M-rated._


	3. Chapter 3

_Reminder before you begin: mildly M-rated chapter._

* * *

**Chapter 3**

One hot bath, with bubbles, one hot chocolate, with marshmallows, and one full night's sleep, with dreams of Castle's warm blue eyes (among other, more scorching, visions), later; Beckett sipped her third morning coffee, checked her watch for the fifteenth time in half an hour, and wondered sulkily why Castle hadn't turned up yet. The fact that it was barely nine-thirty did not, she felt, provide an adequate excuse, and the coffee wasn't entirely masking the nasty taste from the antibiotics. Life, Beckett humphed, was not fair.

She found herself a book, and told herself firmly that there was no significance at all to it being a Richard Castle book. None. She didn't stare at the back cover photo at all, either. Not for one single little instant.

She didn't need to. Castle's blue eyes were etched on the back of her retinas, and _soon_ (get here right now dammit!) they would be here in person. (Maybe there would also be hugs, she thought, and squished it.) She concentrated on her book, and only wished the door would ring once every minute or so, which was perfectly reasonable.

Finally (that was to say, less than half an hour later), the doorbell rang and Castle had arrived.

"Hey," Beckett said, with entirely faked coolness. It lasted all of half a second, at which point Castle had just about shut the door, and therefore had one hand free to catch her as she stepped into him. He automatically hugged her, which was…just what she wanted. Ah. Oh. Um. Er…Ooops? How did she fall into that?

"Hello," Castle oozed. "This is a much better way to say hello than coffee – though I brought you some of that too."

"You did?" Beckett woke up with a bang, but found that she wasn't going anywhere without some serious escapologist manoeuvres. "Where?"

"In my hand. But if you don't stop wriggling like that, it'll be on the floor." He smirked lazily. "Let me put it down, and then you can wriggle like that as much as you like." The smirk mutated into a rakish grin. "It feels like you're all better."

"I still have to take the antibiotics, though," Beckett grumbled. "They taste horrible, too."

"Have your coffee, and then I'm sure we can think of something to pass the time." The glint in his eye suggested that Castle had many ideas, and all of them unsuitable for polite – or indeed any other – company. Since Beckett also had many ideas for passing the time, likewise requiring no other company, that was just fine with her – _what_? It must have been Castle hugging her that had fried her brain. These were not thoughts that normally invaded her head and overrode her common sense. Going to bed in the morning was not civilised. She should wait till later – _what_?

About that point she became aware that there was excellent coffee in front of her and an excellently snuggly arm around her. Clearly it was time to stop thinking and drink the coffee.

The coffee flowed down her throat and finally removed the horrible taste; Castle's thick fingers continued to draw little patterns at the top of her arm; and altogether Beckett felt deeply cossetted, which wasn't a feeling she was used to. She wriggled deeper into the embrace, and felt even better. Being looked after, she decided, was something that she _could_ get used to, very quickly. A happy, contented noise exited her mouth; her head laid itself on a lovely broad shoulder, and life was just plain perfect. She hummed a little tune.

"Blue Eyes?" Castle grinned. "Why, Detective. I might start believing that you really do like me after all."

Beckett gave an indeterminate grumble, and tried to sit up straight. Somehow, it didn't seem to be happening. It wasn't that Castle was stopping her, either. Her body simply didn't seem to be obeying her mind. That might, of course, have had something to do with the little kisses and nuzzles on her hair, or maybe the warm, muscular chest against which she was balanced, or even the way – quite without her conscious knowledge – her legs seemed to have tucked themselves up on the couch so that she was a cosy Beckett-ball curled into Castle's lap.

"You really do," he added, in a far different tone. "That's good, because I really like you too." He held her close, and stroked down her hair and then her back. "We should like each other," he murmured, gently tipped her face up, and dropped a tender buss on her nose. "It would be so good." Another kiss, lightly landing on her lips. "Even better than solving crimes together." This time the kiss included a delicate touch of tongue on the seam of her mouth. "Just like this." Her lips opened under his, and any thoughts of any nature whatsoever dissolved in his eyes on hers and then, as her eyes closed in arousal, the taste and touch and smell of Castle around her and with her.

He kissed with assured expertise; but with an open, passionate desire that took away any idea that he was touching just anyone: it was all about her, all around her. She opened and gave back with interest, falling into his sensual spell; tongues meeting, twining, withdrawing and then exploring once more. He investigated her mouth as deeply as she would investigate a murder, and with the same meticulous attention to detail and small clues; when he delicately nipped her lip she wriggled, when he traced her palate she pulled back a little; so he repeated the first but dropped the second. Observation obviously had its uses: and this use was far better than creepy staring.

Kissing Castle was unlike kissing anyone else, ever. He knew – it must be magic – exactly what to do and where to do it: he was strong enough to take the lead and relaxed enough to surrender it to her when she demanded that he let her raid and conquer. His hands roamed the planes of her back, soft and gentle, unpressured; though she curved like a cat into his gliding strokes he didn't go further; didn't push. Her own slim hands stayed locked around his neck, fingers running into the soft short hair at his nape, playing but not pressing. It didn't seem to be the time for pressure, or hurry, and truth to tell she didn't want to hurry anyway. Kissing Castle was the best way to spend time she'd come up with in ages, and she wasn't going to spoil it by rushing.

Eventually, however, she separated from his mouth, but stayed nestled in, idly twiddling a tendril of hair, close as she could be. He pouted at her. "I was enjoying that. Why'd we have to stop?"

"Um…" Beckett said, which didn't really express her feeling that they should just possibly not spend the entire morning kissing. Her gaze fell on the clock. Oh. They _had_ spent the entire morning kissing. How had that happened? "It's lunchtime. I'm hungry."

A truly inappropriate expression hit Castle's face and gravitated to his lips, which began to part on what was sure to be a truly inappropriate comment. Beckett forestalled any inappropriateness by elbowing his ribs.

"Ow!" he complained. "That's not nice. You're being mean to me, and after I came to keep your ill self company too. Humph."

"Do you want any lunch, or will you keep feeding on whine?" Beckett asked tartly, which didn't really sit well with her snuggled in cosiness.

Castle closed his arms around her. "I could feed on you," he murmured – "Ow! Stop that, Beckett."

"Stop the innuendo, then. Do you want lunch or not?"

"What's in the fridge?"

"Same as last night."

"Septic shock cultures and strange new life forms, then? I guess we're having takeout."

"Or we could go out."

Castle's eyes turned darker. "Why would we want to do that, when we're all cosy here? Much nicer to stay put. You never know what might come up."

"I think I've got a pretty good idea," Beckett said dryly. The problem might be bringing it down. Though she had some thoughts for arranging that, which didn't involve iced water but might involve ice. Castle opened his mouth. "Takeout," she said over the start of another inappropriate comment.

"Okay." He pulled the pile of menus, still on the table from the previous night, towards him. "Thai? Mexican? Something spicy to block the taste of the antibiotics – hadn't you better take them now?"

"Ugh," Beckett gloomed. "Yeah." She slid off Castle's knee, and ignored the strange feeling of bereavement, wandered off to take her medicine and make horrible faces in the privacy of her bathroom, and wandered back to find Castle already on the phone, ordering immense quantities of Mexican food which included all her favourite dishes.

"They'll only be a few minutes," he said, and reached for her. "Come and be hugged while we wait. You look a bit green every time you swallow that stuff."

"I feel a bit green," Beckett quavered. "Ugh." Castle petted, which was a very acceptable response to the quavering, though she'd rather no quavers, no antibiotics, and a good lunch followed by some enthusiastic, um, exercise. She didn't mean yoga.

Still, she could have the good lunch. Her stomach would have settled by the time the delivery arrived, and she was, she discovered, hungry. Fortunately, before she actually began munching on her own fingers or Castle's enticingly present ear and neck, the food arrived and she could dig in. Fajitas and vast quantities of side dishes disposed of, washed down with a bathful of soda, she felt better. The spices had indeed removed the nasty taste.

"How can you eat that much?" Castle wondered. "There isn't enough of you to fit around it."

"I didn't exactly get much to eat yesterday. I missed lunch, then I wasn't hungry last night, and I haven't had breakfast. I'm starved." She munched another churro, liberally covered in chocolate sauce, and then had an exceedingly interesting thought. A further churro twirled in the chocolate, and made its way to her mouth. Her lips pouted and slowly parted around it; allowing it to slide a little way inside, then she withdrew it equally slowly, shorn of chocolate. She dipped it again.

Castle, who would normally abhor double dipping, didn't care, just so long as she kept making promises with her lush, chocolate tinged lips. He couldn't take his eyes off her, but one fast flick upwards told him that she couldn't keep her eyes away from his. He summoned all his self-control, and survived another obscenely inflammatory suck.

The third one smashed his self-control to smithereens.

The churro was disposed of (by Castle) in two bites, and he replaced it with his own avid mouth and greedy tongue, muffling Beckett's complaints about being deprived of her churro and sweeping her up and into him. Softness, gentleness, and slowness were all forgotten; the blue of his eyes had turned almost to black, and the only think he could think of was responding to Beckett's utterly unsubtle provocation. The remains of lunch _didn't_ go flying, but that was merely a serendipitous side-issue. Neither Castle nor Beckett would have noticed or cared. They certainly didn't notice or care where their flung clothing landed, scattered broadcast from couch to bedroom door; they didn't notice or care that it was barely afternoon; and indeed they didn't notice or care about anything at all beyond each other.

Castle stopped devouring Beckett's mouth for a moment, to take in the absolute perfection of creamy skin covered – barely – by tantalisingly translucent flimsy fabric and intricate lace, a deep green that intensified her eyes. Even the dressing on the cut didn't detract from the magnificence of her endless legs, leading his hot blue gaze to the miniscule briefs at the top. His mind completely blown, he simply picked her up and dropped her on to her bed, falling over her and ravaging her all-too-receptive mouth.

Beckett, having made it through the morning without stripping Castle naked and handcuffing him to her bedpost (which fantasy had occupied a substantial proportion of her dreams during the previous night), had taken one good look into his eyes, seen far more than he would have expected – and decided to dive in. Over the morning make-out session, the care he'd taken to stick with her lead; to pet and cosset and cuddle but not to drive or force or dominate or push (there would be time enough for all of those, later); simply the affection he'd shown…it was so very different from his smirky, arrogant behaviour in the precinct and previously that she could barely believe it, and it was incredibly attractive. His eyes had spoken volumes, and all of the words had spoken of far more than simple sexual desire.

She'd opened her campaign on realising that Castle had ordered churros for dessert…and it had worked perfectly. The blue of his irises had bled to navy after the first lascivious lick, and then he'd flexed those particularly appealing muscles and simply…acted. Though eating _her_ churro was _unfair_, and she would have revenge for that…later. Lots later. And now, here she was, stripped to her pretty, sexy bra and panties (good choice, she congratulated herself) with Castle, down to his boxers, poised above her and looking as if he was about to start on a particularly juicy dessert.

She would have admired his musculature, but she didn't get the chance before he took her mouth as if it were the last hope of salvation: owning it and (though she was never ever going to tell him) owning her. She'd never be able to let him go: staring into the depths of those blue, blue eyes: seeing everything he'd never told her – as, she was sure, he could see straight into her soul through her own eyes, and realise everything she hadn't said.

He drew back, and his touch turned softer, delicately tracing her jaw; her fingers glided over the still-smooth cheeks and chin above her; learning the planes of his face; the cords of his neck; the hard edges of clavicles and collarbones surrounded by the smooth play of hard muscle, and then around and down, over his back, reaching the waistband of his boxers, and stopping there. Leaning on his elbows, neatly positioned to press against her just where she had this minute decided she liked him very well, Castle cupped her face and stroked, following fingers with lips in teasing, feathery, butterfly kisses which barely brushed her skin but left sparks coursing through every nerve. She turned to try to meet him, but he murmured, "No," and she gave him his own way.

As he kissed around to her ear, she didn't regret it for a second. She wriggled beneath him, and mewed when he found a sensitive nerve, running directly from neck to heated core. Her hips lifted to roll into hard weight, he groaned, and traced a line directly around the lace edges of her bra; slipping below the fabric, then retreating, moving to lean up over her where one hand could be free to cup and palm and play, and then to slide under her and release the hooks. Her bra fell away, and Castle's eyes darkened to midnight.

"So pretty," he growled.

Beckett flexed, and Castle lost words. Fortunately, Beckett thought, he didn't lose action, or instincts. Both of those were working just _fine_. Ohhhhh yes. Ohhh, do _that _again, Castle. On second thoughts, do _that_. Lots of _that_. After another second of _that_, she stopped thinking entirely. The man could _really_ use his tongue, and he hadn't even made it past her ribs yet. It was pretty clear he was going to, though. The expression in his eyes was _feral_.

He grinned wickedly. Beckett grinned back, just as wickedly, and managed a swift squeeze of substantial assets.

"I knew you liked me," he said. "I know I like you. Shall we like each other?" he asked again.

"Let's," Beckett agreed, and made any further discussion moot by wrapping her legs around him as tightly as she could. He took the brick-hard hint, and dipped his head to kiss her sternum, then, as she loosened her grip, began to move downwards, dropping a line of tiny kisses behind him, which were barely there in physical touch but carried a whole world of erotic anticipation, all of which was pooling in Beckett's centre.

Pool turned to flood as his tongue and lips ran along the top edge of her silky panties, big fingers slowly began to roll them down, and, once the panties had departed her feet, Castle, in a leisurely fashion which left her gasping, kissed back up the whole length of her legs: one side then the other, widening her as he went, and then began to prove that his tongue wasn't only excellent at talking, or at her breasts, but had another talent. Oh _God_, it had another talent. As did his lips, teeth, and _especially_ – _ohhhhh Castle!_ – his fingers.

She lay limply against him where he'd sneaked upwards to cuddle her in, happy to be locked in his embrace and tucked safely into his chest. She just needed a little moment, and then she'd attend to the asset pressing at her rear. She wiggled blissfully, and turned round, pushing Castle down on to his back and then squirming over him so that she could decide how best to, um, make them both happy. Oh, decisions, decisions.

She decided.

A brief reach into her nightstand, a briefer tear of foil, and Castle was dressed and ready. She took a moment to admire the impressively erect anatomy, and then guided him home, taking him in slowly. He was, um, sizeable, and she needed a little time to adjust. It had been a _long_ time.

It was worth waiting for. Oh, _fuck_, he fit just perfectly: every hard, thick inch of him; all the way. She flexed inner muscles, and almost came on the spot. He smiled up at her, eyes still dark and intent, but hazed with total desire and…oh, just admit it already…love. She gave the same look back, and he pulled her down to his mouth and kissed her hard; pulled her up on him and let her slide slowly down again; falling into a leisurely, lazy rhythm that brought a groan to Castle's throat, a thin noise from Beckett, and then a slow, delicious, full-body climax that left her sprawled across him with no desire to move, ever.

Castle was also quite happy not to move, ever. He _liked_ this Beckett-blanket; head on his heart, legs entwined, arm around him as his was around her. She shifted, and sat up, looking down at him with a worryingly unreadable expression.

"Have I told you that I love your blue eyes?" she said.

_**Fin.**_

* * *

_Thank you to all readers and reviewers._

_I'm writing a Christmas Caskett story, but I'm not sure how long it'll be. I hope it'll be done for *this* Christmas._

_Otherwise, if you miss me, read Death in Focus and/or Death in Camera, in that order. (If I don't shamelessly promote, no-one will.)_


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